


legacies and plausible deniability

by notdrunkenough



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notdrunkenough/pseuds/notdrunkenough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a way, she was like a child on Halloween. It was all a big joke and her mother waited outside to keep her safe and off the streets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	legacies and plausible deniability

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I've had on my drive forever--and had nothing to do with it.

On that first day with the Crimebusters, she was still a child. She bit her lip as she pulled her troublesome hair back into a ponytail to stop it from blowing in the wind and into her face, messing up her make up, leaving her to check her make up in the bathroom every ten minutes. She spent half the night pulling down her uncomfortable costume, and blushing when the Comedian wolf whistles when she walked past.

She complained about her costumes constantly—almost obsessively—after all the important matters were settled and most of the group stood around talking to each other. Nite Owl listened attentively to her as she told him that she wanted something from her costume, but she doesn't know what it is, exactly. Never was one for the fashion industry—except as a consumer.

“Should be changed,” Rorschach told her in agreement, as he stood by Nite Owl’s side, “no practical reason for it to be so—”

"I like your costume," Nite Owl II butted in, defensively, as he smiled to her, “it makes me think of a modern version of the first Silk Spectre—very reminiscent.”

"Thanks," she replied, unsure of how one acts in this situation, and whether that was a compliment. She pulled down the hem of her skirt once more, and admitted, "My mother, she made it for me," and she and Nite Owl smiled awkwardly in sync.

In a way, she was like a child on Halloween. It was all a big joke and her mother waited outside to keep her safe and off the streets.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sometimes, Laurie detested the woman her mother was, a part of her forever wanting the virtuous hero she read in comic books to be true. She never wanted someone who laughed with interviewers over her superhero career, calling it a joke to help her get into show business—even if it was.

There was an allegation against Hooded Justice—just a fag who got his jollies from beating up bad guys. No one can ever know for sure; he’s disappeared forever. That’s what she wanted: plausible deniability.

Desperately, Laurie wanted to hear, "No, no, my crime fighting days was to save the people! I want to protect the people," but Sally Jupiter refused shame. She refused to allow people to make her feel inferior because of how she chose to be.

A new paper journalist called her a performing slut, for the entire world to see, once, and she called them her abusive pimp and loyal patrons.

Sometimes, Laurie was proud.

There were days in her childhood, though, where the boys in her class steal their father's Sally Jupiter merchandise—the old comics, the old lighters, the old action figure with real underwear—and share it among their friends and laugh. Her heart would sink, and there would be shame swelling.

There was nothing for her to do but pretend not to see.

Laurie is always Sally’s daughter, but Laurie would try not to become her mother.

She hopes.


End file.
